


Well That's One Way To Do It

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas finds a way to get out of trouble after being caught with a house guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well That's One Way To Do It

‘No!’ Rupert exclaimed as Thomas went to give a curt bow of departure, clutching the clothes he had helped get him out of a moment ago. ‘Don’t hurry off to get those pressed. I’ve plenty enough to see me through the rest of my stay, you know.’

‘I wouldn’t presume to doubt your affluence your Grace.’ Thomas said, the words coming out with a little more mischief than planned. He couldn’t help it, his new charge seemed to have a way of drawing out that particular side of him. ‘I hope you are finding Downton to your liking.’ He added, making an effort to resume the proper subservient tone.

‘Quite.’ Rupert smiled.

He held Thomas’s gaze long enough for the latter to feel compelled to blink and turn away.

‘Will there be anything else your Grace?’ Thomas said softly, all practicalities considered, as eager to stay as to go. Needing, but abhorring it to show.

‘I don’t suppose you’d join me in a little drink, would you?’ Said Rupert.

‘I don’t know.’ Said Thomas, honestly, letting his usual pristine façade slip enough to do Rupert the courtesy of acknowledging what he was truly asking.

‘Right.’ Said Rupert, nodding his head dejectedly as he stepped to pour out a single drink.

‘I don’t know.’ Thomas repeated, playing absently with the fabric of the trousers folded over his arm, looking across at Rupert and the red dressing robe that was tied a lot looser than it should be. ‘I really don’t.’ He said.

‘Will you at least have one?’ Said Rupert with a sigh, holding out the glass he had just finished pouring to Thomas. ‘For the sake of one… _comrade_ …to another.’

For the first time in a long time, Thomas was overcome with an involuntary urge to laugh.

‘I think I can manage that…’ He said with a smile, holding out his hand.

***

‘My Lord you need not concern yourself with…’ Carson tried again, breathless from the exertion of half-running, half-walking, to keep up with Robert as he stalked his way purposefully up from the breakfast room towards the guest bedrooms. ‘…I am sure his Grace is merely having a late morning and…’ He huffed to catch his breath, groaning in upset as his pause allowed Robert to make a good head start up the stairs. ‘…We will get to the whereabouts of Mr Barrow downstairs…’

‘I’m sure I saw him heading out for a smoke not half an hour ago.’ Jimmy chipped in, having less trouble than Carson in keeping up with Robert, but obliged to hang back to avoid aggravating Carson’s already dangerously antagonised pride at the insinuation that one of his staff might be involved in an indiscretion, and that his Lordship of all people had decided to concern himself with the matter.

‘My Lord, Mr Barrow knows the great kindness you have done him in making him under butler here, and in tolerating his proclivities…I am sure he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise…’

Robert ignored the two of them and rounded the gallery into the guest corridor, nostrils flaring in pre-emptive anger at what he was now nigh-on certain he would find upon throwing back the door to Rupert’s bedchamber.

The view did not disappoint.

‘My Lord Grantham I…’ Rupert sprang immediately from the bed, mercifully thinking to retrieve his dressing gown from the floor to cover his modesty, whiter than the sheets from which he had just departed; displacing them in his haste to such a degree that Thomas, lying motionless on his side, was left very near to an indecent level of exposure.

‘You  _what_!?’ Robert raged.

Rupert was intelligent enough to realise further vocalisation would be ill-advised.

Robert waited until Rupert’s head dropped in silent acceptance before stomping about the bed to confront Thomas.

‘And you, Mr Barrow, you…’ Robert stopped.

Thomas hadn’t reacted, or in fact moved at all, despite the banging door or the impressive volume reached by Robert’s voice.

‘Mr Barrow?’ Said Robert, reaching out a reluctant hand to prod at Thomas’s exposed shoulder.

Thomas off-balanced onto his back, eyes closed, unresponsive.

‘Mr Barrow?’

Thomas didn’t move. Dead to the world save the miniscule rise and fall of his chest.

Robert turned to look quizzically at Rupert, in the process catching sight of the now empty whisky decanter sat out of place on the floor by the fireplace.

His gaze took on a decidedly cold and accusatory edge by the time his eyes met Rupert’s.

‘Lord Grantham I can’t believe you would even  _think_ …’

‘I cannot believe you would have the gall to insult me by taking liberties…by abusing my staff!’ Robert shouted, cowing him into silence, shocking even Carson with the ferocity of his anger.

‘I swear he knew just what he was doing when…’

‘You will leave!’ Robert bellowed. ‘The moment you are dressed you will leave.’ He took a breath to relax the tightening in his chest a moment before continuing. ‘And you will forgive me, your Grace…’ He continued scathingly. ‘…if you are left to dress yourself.’

‘My Lord, should I…?’ Carson began, indicating towards Thomas.

‘Yes, would you.’ Said Robert, walking away without so much as a glance towards Rupert.

‘Right…James…’ Said Carson, motioning for Jimmy to join him by the bed.

***

It wasn’t until several hours later (after enduring the excruciating awkwardness that was Jimmy dressing him in his pyjamas while he was ‘unconscious’, after enough time had passed for Rupert to have departed Downton, and after he was sure that he was alone in his own bedroom) that Thomas opened his eyes.

‘Bloody hell…’ He whispered to himself. ‘…that was a close one.’

True, he felt marginally sorry for Rupert, but at least ‘his Grace’ still had a home to go to after being unceremoniously evicted.

Letting out a long, low, whistle as he exhaled; raising his hands up to cup under his head, settling in for a lazy day; musing on the depressing state of affairs that this particular liaison now held the dubious accolade of being his most successful (not to mention, long lasting) within the walls of Downton.

 

 


End file.
